关于艺术的英文诗

1、No matter how familiar we used to be with each other,as long as we are apart then we become strangers. 原来只要分开了的人，无论原来多么熟悉，也会慢慢变得疏远。

2、The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. 未来属于那些相信梦想之美好的人。3、You'll never find the right person, if you can't let go of the wrong one. 紧抓着错误的人放不了手，又怎么可能找到对的那个人呢？4、Sometimes you will never know the true value of a moment until it becomes a memory——有时候，直到一些珍贵的时刻成为了回忆，你才会真正意识到它的价值所在。

5、Perseverance is not a long race:it is many short races,one after another. 坚持不懈不是一个长跑，而是一个接着一个的短跑！6、Eternity is not a distance but a decision. 永远不是一种距离，而是一种决定。7、Knowledge can't replace friendship,I'd rather be an idiot than lose you,Spongebob知识不能取代友谊，即使变成笨蛋我也不愿意失去你，海绵宝宝。

——派大星8、It all comes to the end about the past and you. For the future, about me, to be continued。 关于过去，关于你，告一段落。

关于未来，关于我，敬请期待9、Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving——人生就像骑单车，想保持平衡就得往前进。10、What does it matter where I am if you are not with me. 如果没有你，我在哪里又有什么所谓。

11、Your kiss still burns on my lips, everyday of mine is so beautiful. 你的吻在我的唇上依旧炽热，我的每一天都是如此的美好.12、Real girls aren't perfect. Perfect girls aren't real. 真实的女孩不完美，完美的女孩不真实。13、Perhaps you get worse today, but tomorrow will always be new——或许今天你过得很糟糕，但是明天总会是崭新的！14、When I wake up every morning, the greatest joy is gazing upon you and sunshine, that is the future I desire. 每天早上醒来，最大的愉悦就是看到你和阳光都在，这就是我想要的未来15、Sometimes, the smallest things take up the most room in your heart. 有时候占据我们内心最多空间的，往往是那些最细小的事16、It's an amazing feeling to realize how one person who was once just a stranger suddenly meant the world to you——很奇妙的一种感觉是，曾经的陌生人，突然之间成为了你的整个世界17、Sometimes you need to step outside, clear your head, and remind yourself of who you are and where you wanna be. 有时候你需要退开一点，放空一下，然后提醒自己，我是谁，要去哪里。

18、If you hate me, you're the loser,not me.----Avril Lavigne 如果你恨我，那么你就是失败者，而不是我。----艾薇儿19、Time to get our hearts and minds right, and make today the best day ever, because it will never come again！ 是时候让我们的心回到正轨上来， 让今天成为最棒的一天吧， 因为，今天一去不回来20、Three killers for the time: delay, hesitation ,uncertainty.【时间的三大杀手】1.拖延。

2.犹豫不决。3.目标不明确Don't try so hard, the best things come when you least expect them to.不要太努力去找，最好的东西是在你最预计不到的时候出现。

A Grain of Sand一粒沙子William Blake/威廉.布莱克To see a world in a grain of sand,And a heaven in a wild fllower,Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,And eternity in an hour.从一粒沙子看到一个世界，从一朵野花看到一个天堂，把握在你手心里的就是无限，永恒也就消融于一个时辰。Life is a chain of moments of enjoyment, not only about survival生活是一串串的快乐时光，我们不仅仅是为了生存而生存And forever has no end.永永远远，永无止境.Life is a pure flame, and we live by an invisible sun within us.生命是一束纯净的火焰，我们依靠自己内心看不见的太阳而存在. .If you weeped for the missing sunset,you would miss all the shining stars如果你为着错过夕阳而哭泣，那么你就要错群星了。

Whether today or tomorrow , I won`t miss you!

Don`t cry because it came to end , smile because it happened .

But。

I still love you !

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我很喜欢书法，英语是：I like calligraphy very much.

句子解释：

like 英[laɪk] 美[laɪk]

vt. 喜欢； （与 would 或 should 连用表示客气） 想； 想要； 喜欢做；

prep. （表示属性） 像； （表示方式） 如同； （询问意见） …怎么样； （表示列举） 比如；

adj. 相似的； 相同的；

[例句]What was Bulgaria like?

保加利亚是个怎样的地方？

calligraphy 英[kəˈlɪgrəfi] 美[kəˈlɪɡrəfi]

n. 美术字（体）； 书法，笔迹；

[例句]Her calligraphy was the clearest I'd ever seen.

她的书法是我见过的字迹最工整的。

我喜欢书法艺术，中国书法源远流长，是我国的瑰宝之一.钢笔书法坚挺刚劲，毛笔书法飘逸秀美。

但我最喜欢的是钢笔书法。我为什么喜欢写钢笔字呢？那是因为我们家祖祖辈辈都没有一个人能写好钢笔字。

爸爸为了改变这个事实，就叫我学钢笔字，这样，我与书法便结下了不解之缘。刚开始练书法的时候，我怎么也学不好，也没有耐心去学。

记的有一次，我问我的书法老师：“老师，我学书法已经有半年了，怎么一点也学不好呢？”老师微笑着意味深长地对我说：“学书法首先要有信心，其次要有决心，最后还要有耐心。不管做什么事情，都要有着‘三心’，才能把事情做好。”

我听了老师的这番话，觉得很有道理，于是下狠功夫练习书法。渐渐地，我对书法产生了浓厚的兴趣，进步越来越大了。

这样我勤学苦练书法整整一年，终于有了结果。 I love the art of calligraphy, Chinese calligraphy has a long history, is one of the treasures of our country. The pen calligraphy strong bold brush calligraphy elegant, beautiful. But I like most is the pen calligraphy. 我为什么喜欢写钢笔字呢？那是因为我们家祖祖辈辈都没有一个人能写好钢笔字。

爸爸为了改变这个事实，就叫我学钢笔字，这样，我与书法便结下了不解之缘。 Why I like writing pen? It is because our family for generations do not have a person to write the word pen. Father in order to change this fact, called me to learn the word pen, so, I and calligraphy has the indissoluble bound. 刚开始练书法的时候，我怎么也学不好，也没有耐心去学。

记的有一次，我问我的书法老师：“老师，我学书法已经有半年了，怎么一点也学不好呢？”老师微笑着意味深长地对我说：“学书法首先要有信心，其次要有决心，最后还要有耐心。不管做什么事情，都要有着‘三心’，才能把事情做好。”

我听了老师的这番话，觉得很有道理，于是下狠功夫练习书法。渐渐地，我对书法产生了浓厚的兴趣，进步越来越大了。

这样我勤学苦练书法整整一年，终于有了结果。 When just started practicing calligraphy, I also learn how not to be good, also do not have the patience to learn. Remember once, I asked my calligraphy teacher: "teacher, I learn calligraphy has been half a year, why are not learn English well?" The teacher smiled express volumes to me said: "learn calligraphy must first have the confidence, the second to be determined, finally also must have patience. No matter what you do, must have a 'three hearts', in order to do a good job." I listen to the words of the teacher, feel very reasonable, so under the relentless effort to practice calligraphy. Gradually, I became interested in calligraphy, improving more and more. So I practice handwriting for a whole year, finally results.双语对照翻译不正确取消。

诗歌是一种典型的文学形式,它既属于文学,又是一种艺术。古今中外,对于诗歌的研究从未间断,我们在研究的过程中发现诗歌的美,同时又在前人研究的基础上创造出更好的诗歌作品。我精心收集了关于经典优美的英文诗歌，供大家欣赏学习!

The Poem as Mask

by Muriel Rukeyser

When I wrote of the women in their dances and wildness， it was a mask，

on their mountain， gold-hunting， singing， in orgy，

it was a mask; when I wrote of the god，

fragmented， exiled from himself， his life， the love gone down with song，

it was myself， split open， unable to speak， in exile from myself.

There is no mountain， there is no god， there is memory

of my torn life， myself split open in sleep， the rescued child

beside me among the doctors， and a word

of rescue from the great eyes.

No more masks! No more mythologies!

Now， for the first time， the god lifts his hand，

the fragments join in me with their own music.

The Poet of Bray

by John Heath-Stubbs

Back in the dear old thirties' days

When politics was passion

A harmless left-wing bard was I

And so I grew in fashion：

Although I never really joined

The Party of the Masses

I was most awfully chummy with

The Proletarian classes.

This is the course I'll always steer

Until the stars grow dim， sir——

That howsoever taste may veer

I'll be in the swim， sir.

But as the tide of war swept on

I turned Apocalyptic：

With symbol， myth and archetype

My verse grew crammed and cryptic：

With New Romantic zeal I swore

That Auden was a fake， sir，

And found the mind of Nicky Moore

More int'resting than Blake， sir.

White Horsemen down New Roads had run

But taste required improvement：

I turned to greet the rising sun

And so I joined the Movement!

Glittering and ambiguous

In villanelles I sported：

With Dr. Leavis I concurred，

And when he sneezed I snorted.

But seeing that even John Wax might wane

I left that one-way street， sir;

I modified my style again，

And now I am a Beat， sir：

So very beat， my soul is beat

Into a formless jelly：

I set my verses now to jazz

And read them on the telly.

Perpetual non-conformist I——

And that's the way I'm staying——

The angriest young man alive

(Although my hair is greying)

And in my rage I'll not relent——

No， not one single minute——

Against the base Establishment

(Until， of course， I'm in it)。

This is the course I'll always steer

Until the stars grow dim， sir——

That howsoever taste may veer

I'll be in the swim， sir.

The Pomegranateby Eavan Boland

The only legend I have ever loved is

the story of a daughter lost in hell.

And found and rescued there.

Love and blackmail are the gist of it.

Ceres and Persephone the names.

And the best thing about the legend is

I can enter it anywhere. And have.

As a child in exile in

a city of fogs and strange consonants，

I read it first and at first I was

an exiled child in the crackling dusk of

the underworld， the stars blighted. Later

I walked out in a summer twilight

searching for my daughter at bed-time.

When she came running I was ready

to make any bargain to keep her.

I carried her back past whitebeams

and wasps and honey-scented buddleias.

But I was Ceres then and I knew

winter was in store for every leaf

on every tree on that road.

Was inescapable for each one we passed.

And for me.

It is winter

and the stars are hidden.

I climb the stairs and stand where I can see

my child asleep beside her teen magazines，

her can of Coke， her plate of uncut fruit.

The pomegranate! How did I forget it?

She could have come home and been safe

and ended the story and all

our heart-broken searching but she reached

out a hand and plucked a pomegranate.

She put out her hand and pulled down

the French sound for apple and

the noise of stone and the proof

that even in the place of death，

at the heart of legend， in the midst

of rocks full of unshed tears

ready to be diamonds by the time

the story was told， a child can be

hungry. I could warn her. There is still a chance.

The rain is cold. The road is flint-coloured.

The suburb has cars and cable television.

The veiled stars are above ground.

It is another world. But what else

can a mother give her daughter but such

beautiful rifts in time?

If I defer the grief I will diminish the gift.

The legend will be hers as well as mine.

She will enter it. As I have.

She will wake up. She will hold

the papery flushed skin in her hand.

And to her lips. I will say nothing.